How do you measure what is happening in a congregation?
I have been here just about a year now. I was reminded of this when the "check engine" went on in my elderly car, as that is what happened when I first drove into town a year ago. I spent those first three months frantically trying to fix things and become a legal resident of the state in which I was working.
But now it has been a year. On what basis do I evaluate the ministry of the congregation? The "check engine" light came back on in the car, which can't be a good thing. Some people have moved away, and don't come to church here. There are also some new faces. We have moved from two services to one, at least for the time being, and moved around some other aspects of the Sunday morning schedule. The one service contains elements of both of the services, which is an adjustment for everyone. It is neither contemporary nor traditional. The Bible study which always took place between the services now comes before the one service. I am not sure whether it is the time change or just summer, but the attendance at the Bible study has been sort of erratic. A couple of weeks ago we had to put tables together. But this week it was really small. I wondered if we really wanted to study. Perhaps people just wanted to visit and have coffee, instead?
"No, let's get going," one gentleman said.
We were studying the journeys of Paul, and opened by reading excerpts from Acts 13 and 14. We read and noticed what seemed interesting or odd or what we had a question about. We noticed that Paul always took someone with him. He did not travel alone. We asked questions about Paul's preaching and going to the synagogue and the miracles he did. We talked about miracles, about how they thought Paul and Barnabas were gods, and tried to make sacrifices to them.
Have you ever had an experience -- like a miracle -- that just made you want to worship -- or respond -- in some way? I asked the small group gathered.
Most people didn't claim to have experienced a miracle, although they had heard of them. We all believed they were possible. But we talked about the difficulty of believing in miracles and praying for them, but knowing that they often didn't happen. Some people shared experiences in their lives and said, "If you believe, you see things that you might not see if you did not believe."
Then one woman shared her story, about being in a car wreck, and being injured, when she was a teenager. Someone else did not make it. And she was in a back brace from that, and would have to have surgery. And how the priest came and prayed and when she went back to the doctor, her back was fine. No one could explain it.
Later on she shared how she prayed for her brother, who was dying from cancer. And how he told her, when she prayed, that she could pray for healing for him, but she should make sure she prayed for God's will to be done. Because God might not want the same kind of healing for him that he had for her.
It was a holy, vulnerable moment, and I thought I saw tears when she shared her story, tears from that small group of scripture-studiers. We were standing on holy ground, and we knew it.
How do you measure what is happening in a congregation?
At the worship service later in the morning, one young man affirmed his baptism. He wore a white robe, and made promises, and we laid our hands on him. We gave him gifts and applauded, and sang songs of praise. We pledged to share the light and love together, to live love and not hate, to live hope and not fear
And I thought I saw tears in some eyes that morning, just pooling a little at the edges of the lashes.
How do you measure what is happening in a congregation?
I can tally the numbers on Sunday morning. I can try to chart the volume of singing. I can count the visitors, subtract those who move away, add those who move in. I can be disappointed when turnout is small and elated when it rises.
Or I can measure by moments of bravery, stories shared, tears shed. I can trust that God is changing our lives, and changing the world through us.
Showing posts with label leadership. Show all posts
Showing posts with label leadership. Show all posts
Monday, July 25, 2016
Wednesday, May 11, 2016
Random Thoughts
I'm not very good at removing stains from garments.
This just recently occurred to me, again, after taking a shirt out of the washing machine. I had soaked it and scrubbed it and it looked all right until I held it up to the light and thought I still noticed a very very faint discoloration. Earlier I was soaking a pair of pants with black marks on them. I had gotten home after meeting a couple of church visitors that day, and noticed these black marks (ink? dirt? something else?) and had no idea where they came from. I sprayed, soaked, and scrubbed. The stains on the pants got lighter but did not go away.
My mother is great at removing stains. I am sure that if I gave these garments to my mom she would be able to get these stains out. It is possible that she just doesn't give up, that she uses more elbow grease, that she knows some secret stain-removal ingredients or that she has stain-removal superpowers. I am not sure which. Is it a symptom of a terrible character flaw? When I took that shirt out of the washing machine again, and saw the faint outline of the stain, I wondered about it.
* * *
Recently there was a raging social media discussion about pastors who are introverts, and how they (we) can possibly be effective pastors. Someone sort of suggested that it was a shame that Lutherans don't have holy orders so that introverts would have a place where they would be more comfortable serving. The poster intimated that we were perhaps unsuited to "the rough and tumble of the parish."
I don't feel attracted to holy orders.
Just so you know.
The parish is "rough and tumble" in a lot of ways. Some of them are hard for me, but I am not sure if it's because I am an introvert. It may be more a function of both my peculiar gifts and neuroses. Other parts of parish ministry (aka "the rough and tumble) are exactly why I love it so much: all of the ages together, watching people grow through pain and joy, the chaos, the singing, the people who are fearfully and wonderfully made.
I am thinking about the fact that I am an introvert, but also the fact that it is not all that I am, and wondering what it is about us sometimes: why do we reduce each other to some simple labels? Do I do that to myself, too? Sell myself short with some explanatory labels?
* * *
I am not good at getting stains out of clothing. Maybe it's because I am an introvert, not suited to the rough and tumble of the stain-fighting household. Maybe I give up too easily. Maybe I have other gifts.
* * *
I just started reading this book by Swedish author Fredrik Backman. It's called my grandmother asked me to tell you she's sorry. It's about a little girl named Elsa who is 'different' and who his teased and bullied by her classmates, but whose grandmother is her champion and superhero. The little girl talks about her grandmother's superpower, and says that everyone has them. One of their neighbors' superpowers is making a cookie called "dreams."
I hope that, at the end of the story, Elsa discovers that she has a superpower too.
This just recently occurred to me, again, after taking a shirt out of the washing machine. I had soaked it and scrubbed it and it looked all right until I held it up to the light and thought I still noticed a very very faint discoloration. Earlier I was soaking a pair of pants with black marks on them. I had gotten home after meeting a couple of church visitors that day, and noticed these black marks (ink? dirt? something else?) and had no idea where they came from. I sprayed, soaked, and scrubbed. The stains on the pants got lighter but did not go away.
My mother is great at removing stains. I am sure that if I gave these garments to my mom she would be able to get these stains out. It is possible that she just doesn't give up, that she uses more elbow grease, that she knows some secret stain-removal ingredients or that she has stain-removal superpowers. I am not sure which. Is it a symptom of a terrible character flaw? When I took that shirt out of the washing machine again, and saw the faint outline of the stain, I wondered about it.
* * *
Recently there was a raging social media discussion about pastors who are introverts, and how they (we) can possibly be effective pastors. Someone sort of suggested that it was a shame that Lutherans don't have holy orders so that introverts would have a place where they would be more comfortable serving. The poster intimated that we were perhaps unsuited to "the rough and tumble of the parish."
I don't feel attracted to holy orders.
Just so you know.
The parish is "rough and tumble" in a lot of ways. Some of them are hard for me, but I am not sure if it's because I am an introvert. It may be more a function of both my peculiar gifts and neuroses. Other parts of parish ministry (aka "the rough and tumble) are exactly why I love it so much: all of the ages together, watching people grow through pain and joy, the chaos, the singing, the people who are fearfully and wonderfully made.
I am thinking about the fact that I am an introvert, but also the fact that it is not all that I am, and wondering what it is about us sometimes: why do we reduce each other to some simple labels? Do I do that to myself, too? Sell myself short with some explanatory labels?
* * *
I am not good at getting stains out of clothing. Maybe it's because I am an introvert, not suited to the rough and tumble of the stain-fighting household. Maybe I give up too easily. Maybe I have other gifts.
* * *
I just started reading this book by Swedish author Fredrik Backman. It's called my grandmother asked me to tell you she's sorry. It's about a little girl named Elsa who is 'different' and who his teased and bullied by her classmates, but whose grandmother is her champion and superhero. The little girl talks about her grandmother's superpower, and says that everyone has them. One of their neighbors' superpowers is making a cookie called "dreams."
I hope that, at the end of the story, Elsa discovers that she has a superpower too.
Tuesday, April 12, 2016
The Geography of Grace
I remember once, long ago, I was at a church council retreat. It was so long ago that I was not running the retreat -- I was one of the lay leadership attending the retreat. We were out at a cabin in the woods somewhere, and our opening, ice-breaker activity, designed to help us share our stories and get to know each other better, was to take big pieces of paper and draw our spiritual journey.
As you might imagine, most of us turned the paper horizontally, and drew -- well -- a road. Everyone drew a road of some sort or another, with a beginning and an end, and markers along the way for events of spiritual significance.
And then there was me. For some reason (don't ask me why) I turned my paper vertically, and drew three scenes: on the bottom, I drew a picture of the desert, representing the Arizona desert that I had grown to love, even though I had not grown up there. In the middle, I drew the lakes of my Minnesota home, lakes that I had swum in, walked around, and picnicked at my whole life. On the top I drew mountains, the mountains I had encountered while I had lived and worked as a missionary in Japan.
Three actual places (although my crayon drawings did not do them justice), but also metaphors for the all the places I had gone in my life, from church camp (mountains) to painful relationship endings (deserts).
When I think of Psalm 23, I don't only think of the shepherd and the sheep, even though the Psalm begins, "The Lord is my shepherd." I also think of the geography of the psalm, all of the places where the shepherd leads the sheep: green pastures, still waters, paths of righteousness. Even the valley of the shadow of death. Something about the geography makes me think, not just about the shepherd and the sheep, but the geography -- the geography of the journey.
It's hard not to think about this, actually. I made the journey from Minnesota to Texas last year. The geography is different here, in both subtle and profound ways. There are forests and fields of bluebonnets and poisonous snakes; Houston gives "urban sprawl" a whole new meaning.
Then there is the journey to this new calling, being a pastor to this church called "Grace". We just got done with a council retreat. The process we used was called a "Roadmap", and we dreamed and made plans and put markers down on our pathway. What do we value? Where do we want to be this time next year? How are we going to get there? We asked and answered questions together.
On this particular journey, I keep thinking that I am supposed to be the leader. This is true. I have a responsibility on this journey. But it is not always what I suppose it to be. I think that my job, as the leader, is to ensure success, to crack the whip, to make sure everyone does what they are supposed to do.
But there's the beginning of the Psalm again, reminding me of the truth:
The Lord is our shepherd. We shall not want.
On this journey, my job is to remind us all that the Lord is our shepherd, and that we shall not want. Whatever we do, whatever our goals are, whatever our mission is, whatever terrain we travel.
My job is to remind us all that he leads us along the paths of righteousness, which are the paths of trust, the paths of grace. He leads us along paths that are not easy, but are, even so, grace-filled.
Even though we walk through the valley of the shadow of death (and we will), even though we will stumble (and we will), even though we will fail, (and we will):
The Lord is our shepherd.
Mine, too.
As you might imagine, most of us turned the paper horizontally, and drew -- well -- a road. Everyone drew a road of some sort or another, with a beginning and an end, and markers along the way for events of spiritual significance.
And then there was me. For some reason (don't ask me why) I turned my paper vertically, and drew three scenes: on the bottom, I drew a picture of the desert, representing the Arizona desert that I had grown to love, even though I had not grown up there. In the middle, I drew the lakes of my Minnesota home, lakes that I had swum in, walked around, and picnicked at my whole life. On the top I drew mountains, the mountains I had encountered while I had lived and worked as a missionary in Japan.
Three actual places (although my crayon drawings did not do them justice), but also metaphors for the all the places I had gone in my life, from church camp (mountains) to painful relationship endings (deserts).
When I think of Psalm 23, I don't only think of the shepherd and the sheep, even though the Psalm begins, "The Lord is my shepherd." I also think of the geography of the psalm, all of the places where the shepherd leads the sheep: green pastures, still waters, paths of righteousness. Even the valley of the shadow of death. Something about the geography makes me think, not just about the shepherd and the sheep, but the geography -- the geography of the journey.
It's hard not to think about this, actually. I made the journey from Minnesota to Texas last year. The geography is different here, in both subtle and profound ways. There are forests and fields of bluebonnets and poisonous snakes; Houston gives "urban sprawl" a whole new meaning.
Then there is the journey to this new calling, being a pastor to this church called "Grace". We just got done with a council retreat. The process we used was called a "Roadmap", and we dreamed and made plans and put markers down on our pathway. What do we value? Where do we want to be this time next year? How are we going to get there? We asked and answered questions together.
On this particular journey, I keep thinking that I am supposed to be the leader. This is true. I have a responsibility on this journey. But it is not always what I suppose it to be. I think that my job, as the leader, is to ensure success, to crack the whip, to make sure everyone does what they are supposed to do.But there's the beginning of the Psalm again, reminding me of the truth:
The Lord is our shepherd. We shall not want.
On this journey, my job is to remind us all that the Lord is our shepherd, and that we shall not want. Whatever we do, whatever our goals are, whatever our mission is, whatever terrain we travel.
My job is to remind us all that he leads us along the paths of righteousness, which are the paths of trust, the paths of grace. He leads us along paths that are not easy, but are, even so, grace-filled.
Even though we walk through the valley of the shadow of death (and we will), even though we will stumble (and we will), even though we will fail, (and we will):
The Lord is our shepherd.
Mine, too.
Monday, February 22, 2016
Sunday Morning
I don't know why I was so tired when I came to church on Sunday morning. It was a beautiful day. It was the second Sunday in Lent. We were going to install our new church council at both services. I had my sermon all ready: "Animals of the Bible." I felt good pretty good about it.
It's true, that the day before we had a Council Retreat, which was wonderful, and invigorating and exciting, where we dreamed some dreams for the coming year and maybe even saw a couple of visions too. It was a wonderful day, and we were well-led, but I was surprised about how exhausted I felt at the end of it all. Dreams and visions make you tired.
Then again, it might have been that last minute trip to buy some little toy chicks for the children's message.
Sunday morning I woke up and took my dog on an actual walk all around the apartment building. For the first time in six weeks, I was without the boot. But it made me a little later than usual for church, where I needed to get ready for the first service, set up for the first session of our new Adult study, and give instructions to the special musician (a pan-flute player who, as it turned out, did not speak English).
At the first service, I remember that I called Lent "Advent" once, during the announcements. I think I stumbled over a few words of liturgy. I hope nobody minded.
Everything ran a little late, so I raced over to the fellowship hall to begin the first session of the adult study. It is on faith practices, and I was a little nervous about whether the series would go over.
The first session was on prayer. I had a ten minute DVD and a couple of pages of notes and possible questions. We were starting late, and I was giving an overview of the session. But as soon as the DVD was over, I decided to ask for their initial reactions.
And you know what? People started sharing, honestly, about what they heard or thought about prayer, whether they prayed all of the time, and easily, or had problems with prayer, whether they knew what to pray for, or were at a loss for words. They shared barriers to prayer and what helped them with prayer.
My heart was strangely warmed.
After a little while, I realized that I did not want to cut this conversation off, even though the service ran late. I asked them if we could take an extra week on prayer so that we could cover more of the lesson.
They all agreed, heartily.
Before I had to leave for the second service, I taught them something I used to use with confirmation classes: a prayer called a "popcorn prayer." I said it is a popcorn prayer because it is just one word, and you can pop up with that word anytime, and it is all right if people say their word at the same time, and when the popcorn stops popping, then you are done. Then I told them they could close with the Lord's prayer. I started them off, and as I hurried over to the second service, I could hear the popcorn prayers popping.
And my heart was strangely warmed.
Over at the second service, there was a guitarist and drummer, set to go. A few people were settling in, with more to come, some after the service began. We are currently "in interim" musically, at this service. We are in the process for searching for a new music leader. In the meantime, one of our young members has been a part of the interim team. He started off the service with "Lord, I lift your name on High." A little later we sang "Shout to the Lord." And I could hear the voices of the congregation, singing with joy.
My heart was strangely warmed.
A baby fussed some, during the sermon. I hope it was okay, but I stopped and said, not to worry -- it happens sometimes. I didn't want the parents to feel bad.
Afterwards, I got so many compliments and comments about this young man, and how well he did.
I was so tired on Sunday morning. I don't know exactly why.
But I know this.
My congregation held me up. Their songs, their prayers, even the sound of the baby crying.
We are partners in the gospel. Never let me doubt.
It's true, that the day before we had a Council Retreat, which was wonderful, and invigorating and exciting, where we dreamed some dreams for the coming year and maybe even saw a couple of visions too. It was a wonderful day, and we were well-led, but I was surprised about how exhausted I felt at the end of it all. Dreams and visions make you tired.
Then again, it might have been that last minute trip to buy some little toy chicks for the children's message.
Sunday morning I woke up and took my dog on an actual walk all around the apartment building. For the first time in six weeks, I was without the boot. But it made me a little later than usual for church, where I needed to get ready for the first service, set up for the first session of our new Adult study, and give instructions to the special musician (a pan-flute player who, as it turned out, did not speak English).
At the first service, I remember that I called Lent "Advent" once, during the announcements. I think I stumbled over a few words of liturgy. I hope nobody minded.
Everything ran a little late, so I raced over to the fellowship hall to begin the first session of the adult study. It is on faith practices, and I was a little nervous about whether the series would go over.
The first session was on prayer. I had a ten minute DVD and a couple of pages of notes and possible questions. We were starting late, and I was giving an overview of the session. But as soon as the DVD was over, I decided to ask for their initial reactions.
And you know what? People started sharing, honestly, about what they heard or thought about prayer, whether they prayed all of the time, and easily, or had problems with prayer, whether they knew what to pray for, or were at a loss for words. They shared barriers to prayer and what helped them with prayer.
My heart was strangely warmed.
After a little while, I realized that I did not want to cut this conversation off, even though the service ran late. I asked them if we could take an extra week on prayer so that we could cover more of the lesson.
They all agreed, heartily.
Before I had to leave for the second service, I taught them something I used to use with confirmation classes: a prayer called a "popcorn prayer." I said it is a popcorn prayer because it is just one word, and you can pop up with that word anytime, and it is all right if people say their word at the same time, and when the popcorn stops popping, then you are done. Then I told them they could close with the Lord's prayer. I started them off, and as I hurried over to the second service, I could hear the popcorn prayers popping.
And my heart was strangely warmed.
Over at the second service, there was a guitarist and drummer, set to go. A few people were settling in, with more to come, some after the service began. We are currently "in interim" musically, at this service. We are in the process for searching for a new music leader. In the meantime, one of our young members has been a part of the interim team. He started off the service with "Lord, I lift your name on High." A little later we sang "Shout to the Lord." And I could hear the voices of the congregation, singing with joy.
My heart was strangely warmed.
A baby fussed some, during the sermon. I hope it was okay, but I stopped and said, not to worry -- it happens sometimes. I didn't want the parents to feel bad.
Afterwards, I got so many compliments and comments about this young man, and how well he did.
I was so tired on Sunday morning. I don't know exactly why.
But I know this.
My congregation held me up. Their songs, their prayers, even the sound of the baby crying.
We are partners in the gospel. Never let me doubt.
Monday, October 26, 2015
Why I Have A Clergy Coach
I am just a few months into a new call (my third, but who's counting). I have also moved to a new community in a new state. In the location to which I have been called, I learned that it is possible to apply for a clergy coach, so I did.
I do have a number of years in ministry under my belt, and a fair amount of experience. So, why get a coach? Why would I need a clergy coach? Isn't it a sign of weakness, admitting that I might possibly need help?
1. Ministry is hard. I think that every single one of us needs all the help we can get. Though I have a church full of people who are pretty invested in my success, it is great to have people outside my parish who are also praying for me, and who care about me as a person and a pastor. Ministry can also be painful. Besides the thrill of new experiences and successes, there is also the loneliness of being in a new place, and the pain of experiments that crash and burn. At these times, it is good to have outside resources who will give a different perspective, and who will help me get back up and do it all again.
2. It is a Defense against Isolation. Ministry can be a lonely profession. There are not many people that it is appropriate to confide in, to test perceptions, and with whom I can process what I am thinking about. I also think that pastors sometimes get caught in the trap of thinking they are supposed to be "the resident expert." No one is an expert on everything, and I hope that my coach will help me remember that, be another source of wisdom, and also remind me that i have other sources of wisdom and experience around me, if I can be humble enough and curious enough to ask.
3. Good leaders are not just born; they are made. You can be the most awesome natural musician and still have to put in 8 hours a day of practice in order to hone your craft. You can have natural gifts for writing or cooking or gymnastics, but still have to study, to try different recipes, to stretch your legs and your skills.
4. I Want to Build on My Strengths. One thing I have learned: I'm always tempted to try to improve in the areas of my weakness rather than recognize and build on the places where I am strong. A good leader plays to her strengths. My coach knows this.
5. I Don't Want to Stop Growing. I want to invest in my own leadership. I love learning, and I want to be intentional about adding new tools and growing in leadership skills, not thinking that I know it all or have learned everything I need to know. A clergy coach will help me to learn by practice and encouraging me to stretch myself, to develop new habits instead of staying safe.
What are some other reasons a seasoned pastor can benefit from a clergy coach? What would you add?
I do have a number of years in ministry under my belt, and a fair amount of experience. So, why get a coach? Why would I need a clergy coach? Isn't it a sign of weakness, admitting that I might possibly need help?
1. Ministry is hard. I think that every single one of us needs all the help we can get. Though I have a church full of people who are pretty invested in my success, it is great to have people outside my parish who are also praying for me, and who care about me as a person and a pastor. Ministry can also be painful. Besides the thrill of new experiences and successes, there is also the loneliness of being in a new place, and the pain of experiments that crash and burn. At these times, it is good to have outside resources who will give a different perspective, and who will help me get back up and do it all again.
2. It is a Defense against Isolation. Ministry can be a lonely profession. There are not many people that it is appropriate to confide in, to test perceptions, and with whom I can process what I am thinking about. I also think that pastors sometimes get caught in the trap of thinking they are supposed to be "the resident expert." No one is an expert on everything, and I hope that my coach will help me remember that, be another source of wisdom, and also remind me that i have other sources of wisdom and experience around me, if I can be humble enough and curious enough to ask.
3. Good leaders are not just born; they are made. You can be the most awesome natural musician and still have to put in 8 hours a day of practice in order to hone your craft. You can have natural gifts for writing or cooking or gymnastics, but still have to study, to try different recipes, to stretch your legs and your skills.
4. I Want to Build on My Strengths. One thing I have learned: I'm always tempted to try to improve in the areas of my weakness rather than recognize and build on the places where I am strong. A good leader plays to her strengths. My coach knows this.
5. I Don't Want to Stop Growing. I want to invest in my own leadership. I love learning, and I want to be intentional about adding new tools and growing in leadership skills, not thinking that I know it all or have learned everything I need to know. A clergy coach will help me to learn by practice and encouraging me to stretch myself, to develop new habits instead of staying safe.
What are some other reasons a seasoned pastor can benefit from a clergy coach? What would you add?
Monday, September 7, 2015
The Myth of the Single Solution
A long time ago a friend who was seeing a counselor gave me a slice of wisdom she had learned. "My counselor told me that I should beware of the single solution,'" she said.
The meaning was was not immediately clear to me. My friend was in a conflicted relationship, so I at first thought the advice had to do with whether she should continue or end her relationship.
That's not what she meant.
"No," she explained, "my counselor means that I should beware of thinking that there is just one thing that I should do, or can do, that will magically fix everything. There is not one single solution."
I thought about that for a long time. I thought about it in terms of personal relationships, and (I couldn't help it) I even thought of it in terms of congregations. There is not a 'single solution' for congregations.
At one time, (a long time ago, this was) I believed that the solution for churches was worship. If we could get with it, worship-wise, if we could create a kick-butt contemporary worship service, or a sublimely reverent traditional worship service, if we got rid of the organ or got a better organ, if we had a lead vocalist or a string quartet or a djembe, Everything Would Be All Right Again. The Contemporary Worship Service was the strategy of the hour. It was the way all churches were going to turn around and grow again.
It was the single solution.
I happen to know a fair number of churches with contemporary worship services. It has not been the single revitalization tool they thought it was. There is no one single revitalization tool. There is good worship of many varieties, and there are healthy relationships and there are disciples growing in faith and serving their neighbors, and there are myriad ways these things work or don't work in a congregation.
It's not just worship, of course. Sometimes the great youth program is the single solution. Sometimes the small group program is the single solution. Sometimes great sermons are the single solution.
Of course, the woman who told me this was seeing a counselor, and she was trying to figure out how to have a happier life, a more meaningful life. I think she believed that there was one thing she could do that would make her life better, and her counselor was cautioning her: it's not that simple.
For congregations, perhaps it is simple, in a way. There is no single solution. But there are two things: There is prayer, and asking questions. The prayer involves both speaking and listening, and expecting to hear God speak. The questions are all about what God is calling us to be, and to do. Maybe the questions are just another way of praying.
Now, this is my strategy. There is not one thing to do, but there are two (or three, really): Ask Questions. Pray. And Trust God.
The meaning was was not immediately clear to me. My friend was in a conflicted relationship, so I at first thought the advice had to do with whether she should continue or end her relationship.
That's not what she meant.
"No," she explained, "my counselor means that I should beware of thinking that there is just one thing that I should do, or can do, that will magically fix everything. There is not one single solution."
I thought about that for a long time. I thought about it in terms of personal relationships, and (I couldn't help it) I even thought of it in terms of congregations. There is not a 'single solution' for congregations.
At one time, (a long time ago, this was) I believed that the solution for churches was worship. If we could get with it, worship-wise, if we could create a kick-butt contemporary worship service, or a sublimely reverent traditional worship service, if we got rid of the organ or got a better organ, if we had a lead vocalist or a string quartet or a djembe, Everything Would Be All Right Again. The Contemporary Worship Service was the strategy of the hour. It was the way all churches were going to turn around and grow again.
It was the single solution.
I happen to know a fair number of churches with contemporary worship services. It has not been the single revitalization tool they thought it was. There is no one single revitalization tool. There is good worship of many varieties, and there are healthy relationships and there are disciples growing in faith and serving their neighbors, and there are myriad ways these things work or don't work in a congregation.
It's not just worship, of course. Sometimes the great youth program is the single solution. Sometimes the small group program is the single solution. Sometimes great sermons are the single solution.
Of course, the woman who told me this was seeing a counselor, and she was trying to figure out how to have a happier life, a more meaningful life. I think she believed that there was one thing she could do that would make her life better, and her counselor was cautioning her: it's not that simple.
For congregations, perhaps it is simple, in a way. There is no single solution. But there are two things: There is prayer, and asking questions. The prayer involves both speaking and listening, and expecting to hear God speak. The questions are all about what God is calling us to be, and to do. Maybe the questions are just another way of praying.
Now, this is my strategy. There is not one thing to do, but there are two (or three, really): Ask Questions. Pray. And Trust God.
Saturday, July 18, 2015
Leadership and Flying
On Tuesday morning I opened my emails and saw an invitation. It was from the administrator at the pre-school associated with my church. I had just met with her for a one-to-one conversation and I thought the invitation was a good sign. I thought I should probably say "yes."
Then I noticed the fine print.
This was an invitation to do something called "indoor sky-diving", which I had never heard of before. I consider it sort of a bad sign when the invitation is to something I have not heard of. Also I have never ever heard anyone put the words "indoor" and "skydiving" in the same sentence, let alone right smack dab next to each other.
I thought about it some more. I mentioned the invitation to our office administrator. She thought it was 'really cool", so I went ahead and said "yes", although I will admit to having a few misgivings when they asked me to sign a number of waivers.
Whatever 'type' it is that thrives on adventure and taking risks? -- I'm not it. I thought coming to Texas was risky enough. But, like public speaking, once you get up in front of people and open your mouth, you can't run away. I had signed the waiver, so I was in.
We carpooled down to the iFly center (that's what it was called) where we were all going into a wind tunnel and learn to fly, or float. We had to have a short training, and learn a few hand signals. We needed a helmet, and a special suit (like real sky-divers wear). We were going to get two 'flights': one where we stayed near the ground and basically learn to float, and the other where we would fly higher up into the wind tunnel. Both times our instructor was with us, holding onto us and guiding us around. No one flew alone.
A few of us expressed misgivings and wondered what we were doing there. But, in the end, almost everyone decided to try it. There is safety in numbers, and the good instruction at the beginning didn't hurt, either. We all sat together and waited our turn, clapping for each other and giving each other high fives when we were done.
When it was time for the woman right before me to try her first flight, she looked at me and motioned for me to go ahead of her. I hesitated for a moment. She was just afraid, and she wanted to delay. But she motioned to me again, so I got up.
But you know what? Our instructor pushed me back. He wouldn't let her back out. And he wouldn't let me let her. He probably knew that if she delayed she might back out entirely. He may also have suspected that she would ultimately regret it. He knew she was afraid, but that fear shouldn't stop her.
I thought about that. I thought about my impulse to step in, because she asked me to. I understood her fear, and felt the same way. But it was actually a good impulse. It also wasn't a pastoral impulse, although I might have mistaken it for one.
Pastoral leadership isn't about stepping in with the answers. It's about letting people wrestle with the questions, actually giving people the opportunity to wrestle. It's about giving people the opportunity to fly, even if they will also sometimes fail or fall.
For a long time I think congregations thought that the pastor's job was to go into the tunnel and sky-dive, while they watched. I suspect a lot of pastors thought that too. But actually I think that the pastor's job is a lot more like our sky-diving coach's: To teach: here are the hand signals. I will teach you. I will be with you. And then to invite us to go into the wind tunnel, with some skills but without all of the answers, to not know exactly what is going to happen, and to trust God.
Then I noticed the fine print.
This was an invitation to do something called "indoor sky-diving", which I had never heard of before. I consider it sort of a bad sign when the invitation is to something I have not heard of. Also I have never ever heard anyone put the words "indoor" and "skydiving" in the same sentence, let alone right smack dab next to each other.
I thought about it some more. I mentioned the invitation to our office administrator. She thought it was 'really cool", so I went ahead and said "yes", although I will admit to having a few misgivings when they asked me to sign a number of waivers.
Whatever 'type' it is that thrives on adventure and taking risks? -- I'm not it. I thought coming to Texas was risky enough. But, like public speaking, once you get up in front of people and open your mouth, you can't run away. I had signed the waiver, so I was in.
We carpooled down to the iFly center (that's what it was called) where we were all going into a wind tunnel and learn to fly, or float. We had to have a short training, and learn a few hand signals. We needed a helmet, and a special suit (like real sky-divers wear). We were going to get two 'flights': one where we stayed near the ground and basically learn to float, and the other where we would fly higher up into the wind tunnel. Both times our instructor was with us, holding onto us and guiding us around. No one flew alone.
A few of us expressed misgivings and wondered what we were doing there. But, in the end, almost everyone decided to try it. There is safety in numbers, and the good instruction at the beginning didn't hurt, either. We all sat together and waited our turn, clapping for each other and giving each other high fives when we were done.
When it was time for the woman right before me to try her first flight, she looked at me and motioned for me to go ahead of her. I hesitated for a moment. She was just afraid, and she wanted to delay. But she motioned to me again, so I got up.
But you know what? Our instructor pushed me back. He wouldn't let her back out. And he wouldn't let me let her. He probably knew that if she delayed she might back out entirely. He may also have suspected that she would ultimately regret it. He knew she was afraid, but that fear shouldn't stop her.
I thought about that. I thought about my impulse to step in, because she asked me to. I understood her fear, and felt the same way. But it was actually a good impulse. It also wasn't a pastoral impulse, although I might have mistaken it for one.
Pastoral leadership isn't about stepping in with the answers. It's about letting people wrestle with the questions, actually giving people the opportunity to wrestle. It's about giving people the opportunity to fly, even if they will also sometimes fail or fall.
For a long time I think congregations thought that the pastor's job was to go into the tunnel and sky-dive, while they watched. I suspect a lot of pastors thought that too. But actually I think that the pastor's job is a lot more like our sky-diving coach's: To teach: here are the hand signals. I will teach you. I will be with you. And then to invite us to go into the wind tunnel, with some skills but without all of the answers, to not know exactly what is going to happen, and to trust God.
Monday, July 6, 2015
Claiming the Space
So, I moved. I moved a few states south of the state where I grew up and where I have lived most (but not all) of my life. I suppose that I moved for a lot of reasons, but I suppose one of the most compelling ones is that I have have a sense the the Holy Spirit wants me to be here.
The dog and I are here ahead of my husband, who will join us a little later. It has been a rough couple of weeks for both of us, at least in some ways. There was some howling and barking, at first, whenever I left. There has been some Hiding in the Closet and Not Wanting to Go on Walks.
You know, you can't reason with a dog.
And then one day, I came home and she was lying on the bed. I mean, she was really stretched out. She took up almost the whole bed.
In all her life, she never looked so comfortable. It was as if this has always been her place and she belonged here.
She has claimed that space as her own -- at least until I kick her off.
If only it was that easy.
As for myself, I have a couple of roads down, but I know I have a lot to learn, still, both about the community and about the congregation I serve. Two weeks ago, I stepped behind the pulpit in the sanctuary for the first time. This last Sunday, I stood at the altar and lifted the bread and cup. The morning was not without glitches. At the first service, the ushers had to remind me to give them the offering plates. At the second service, I was not quite sure who was doing what during the distribution. But everything came out all right in the end.
When I was getting ready to leave my last congregation, the executive committee asked me if I would do an exit interview with them. I wasn't sure what the purpose of the exit interview would be, but I agreed to get together for an informal question and answer session.
Someone said something there that I had heard before, and never really appreciated. This person said (and I had heard it before) that my sermons and worship presence, while always good, got a lot better after the new senior pastor came. I have never known exactly what to say when someone has said that.
But during the interview, something occurred to me. I realized that what people were naming as "improvement" was simply this: sometime during the time before the new senior pastor arrived, I learned to claim the worship space as my own, to believe that I belonged there, even to stretch out.
Now I am here, in so many ways, in a new space, and the Holy Spirit has called me here. And I realize that what I need to do, in small ways and in large ways, is to learn to claim the space -- not just the sanctuary, but the deserts and mountains and all the yet unknown places.
It is holy ground, not just for me, but for us, together.
The dog and I are here ahead of my husband, who will join us a little later. It has been a rough couple of weeks for both of us, at least in some ways. There was some howling and barking, at first, whenever I left. There has been some Hiding in the Closet and Not Wanting to Go on Walks.
You know, you can't reason with a dog.
And then one day, I came home and she was lying on the bed. I mean, she was really stretched out. She took up almost the whole bed.
In all her life, she never looked so comfortable. It was as if this has always been her place and she belonged here.
She has claimed that space as her own -- at least until I kick her off.
If only it was that easy.
As for myself, I have a couple of roads down, but I know I have a lot to learn, still, both about the community and about the congregation I serve. Two weeks ago, I stepped behind the pulpit in the sanctuary for the first time. This last Sunday, I stood at the altar and lifted the bread and cup. The morning was not without glitches. At the first service, the ushers had to remind me to give them the offering plates. At the second service, I was not quite sure who was doing what during the distribution. But everything came out all right in the end.
When I was getting ready to leave my last congregation, the executive committee asked me if I would do an exit interview with them. I wasn't sure what the purpose of the exit interview would be, but I agreed to get together for an informal question and answer session.
Someone said something there that I had heard before, and never really appreciated. This person said (and I had heard it before) that my sermons and worship presence, while always good, got a lot better after the new senior pastor came. I have never known exactly what to say when someone has said that.
But during the interview, something occurred to me. I realized that what people were naming as "improvement" was simply this: sometime during the time before the new senior pastor arrived, I learned to claim the worship space as my own, to believe that I belonged there, even to stretch out.
Now I am here, in so many ways, in a new space, and the Holy Spirit has called me here. And I realize that what I need to do, in small ways and in large ways, is to learn to claim the space -- not just the sanctuary, but the deserts and mountains and all the yet unknown places.
It is holy ground, not just for me, but for us, together.
Wednesday, March 25, 2015
Unrealistic Expectations
As part of my work, I have meetings and conversations with couples prior to their weddings. We don't just plan the ceremony. We also use an inventory which purports to measure the couple's "Strengths" and "Growth Areas". The inventory gives us many possibilities for conversations that we can have about their relationship.
Some of the possible strengths (or 'growth areas') named are: Communication, Conflict Resolution, Relationship Roles, Family and Friends, Spiritual Beliefs, Children and Parenting.
You get the idea.
Then there is this one: "Marriage Expectations." The idea is that if your expectations for marriage are "realistic", then this is a strength for you. If your expectations for marriage are "unrealistic", then this is a growth area.
I've been using this inventory for a long time, and I'll tell you what: I can't think of one couple who scored well on "Marriage Expectations." Not one. They all thought that their partner would never disappoint them, that nothing could make them doubt each other's love, that the romance would never fade.
I've taken to reporting these results with a preface: "Marriage Expectations is a growth area for you," I explain. "But as far as I can tell, it is for everyone. Maybe no one would get married if they had realistic expectations." We laugh about that a little, and go on to discuss their results, bursting their marriage pre-conception balloon, but as gently as possible.
I can't help thinking that the same dynamics could be applied to pastors and congregations.
I realize that there are a number of problems with this analogy. No, I am not married to my congregation. We aren't even dating. But it is a kind of relationship, and I think that congregations have expectations of their pastors, some based in hope, and some based in tradition, and based in some sort of mythic golden age. They might have expectations of what their pastor will look like, or what kind of a personality she will have (or even whether their pastor will be a 'he' or a 'she'). They might have expectations of what kind of leader their pastor will be, or how he will pray or sing or preach. They might have expectations of what their pastor can or will do: bring back the fifties, attract young families, be great with youth or old people, evangelize the neighborhood.
Some of these expectations will (possibly) be unrealistic.
Pastors have expectations of congregations, too. They have expectations of what their congregations might look like, their piety, their worship life, their eagerness to come out to a Bible study or help with soup suppers or go on a mission trip. They have expectations (perhaps) about a congregation's faith or their doubts, their neediness or their strength.
Some of these expectations will be unrealistic.
Maybe that's natural. Maybe it's part of all of life, or at least, every relationship. We do our best to tell the truth, and to hear the truth about each other. But in the end marriage, friendship, and entering into every kind of community is a leap of faith. We love each other and we hurt each other. We soar and we fall flat on our faces. We blame each other during the rough patches. The romance fades. We are bound to disappoint each other, sometimes.
So we continue to harbor unrealistic expectations. That's just the way it is. Only one thing is needful: not to lower expectations, but to take another leap of faith, and practice forgiveness.
Some of the possible strengths (or 'growth areas') named are: Communication, Conflict Resolution, Relationship Roles, Family and Friends, Spiritual Beliefs, Children and Parenting.
You get the idea.
Then there is this one: "Marriage Expectations." The idea is that if your expectations for marriage are "realistic", then this is a strength for you. If your expectations for marriage are "unrealistic", then this is a growth area.
I've been using this inventory for a long time, and I'll tell you what: I can't think of one couple who scored well on "Marriage Expectations." Not one. They all thought that their partner would never disappoint them, that nothing could make them doubt each other's love, that the romance would never fade.
I've taken to reporting these results with a preface: "Marriage Expectations is a growth area for you," I explain. "But as far as I can tell, it is for everyone. Maybe no one would get married if they had realistic expectations." We laugh about that a little, and go on to discuss their results, bursting their marriage pre-conception balloon, but as gently as possible.
I can't help thinking that the same dynamics could be applied to pastors and congregations.
I realize that there are a number of problems with this analogy. No, I am not married to my congregation. We aren't even dating. But it is a kind of relationship, and I think that congregations have expectations of their pastors, some based in hope, and some based in tradition, and based in some sort of mythic golden age. They might have expectations of what their pastor will look like, or what kind of a personality she will have (or even whether their pastor will be a 'he' or a 'she'). They might have expectations of what kind of leader their pastor will be, or how he will pray or sing or preach. They might have expectations of what their pastor can or will do: bring back the fifties, attract young families, be great with youth or old people, evangelize the neighborhood.
Some of these expectations will (possibly) be unrealistic.
Pastors have expectations of congregations, too. They have expectations of what their congregations might look like, their piety, their worship life, their eagerness to come out to a Bible study or help with soup suppers or go on a mission trip. They have expectations (perhaps) about a congregation's faith or their doubts, their neediness or their strength.
Some of these expectations will be unrealistic.
Maybe that's natural. Maybe it's part of all of life, or at least, every relationship. We do our best to tell the truth, and to hear the truth about each other. But in the end marriage, friendship, and entering into every kind of community is a leap of faith. We love each other and we hurt each other. We soar and we fall flat on our faces. We blame each other during the rough patches. The romance fades. We are bound to disappoint each other, sometimes.
So we continue to harbor unrealistic expectations. That's just the way it is. Only one thing is needful: not to lower expectations, but to take another leap of faith, and practice forgiveness.
Monday, December 8, 2014
A Small, Important Thing
I had a funeral on Friday, a small funeral in our chapel for a retired teacher from our community. She had just a few, particular requests for her funeral: that we would read Ecclesiastes 3:1-13, that we would sing "Beautiful Savior", and that a woman from our congregation would sing.
She did not designate a particular song; she just wanted this woman to sing, an alto from our church's choir. As it turned out, they had also sung together in a community choir.
I was happy to ask her to sing, and the woman was happy to accept the invitation. She just had one question for me, "Will you sing with me?"
Back in the day, she and her husband were often asked to sing at funerals. He had died a few years ago, but people still asked her to sing, on occasion. So I didn't think she was asking because she didn't want to sing alone. She was perfectly capable of singing by herself. Actually, I didn't know why she asked me.
I said yes.
We decided on a song (Abide with Me) and divided up the parts and practiced a couple of times. I sang soprano on one verse and tenor an octave higher on another verse. I remembered how I used to sing with my sister, on occasion. But that was many years ago. The last time, we sang "Whispering Hope." I remembered how it felt, singing harmony, singing the melody, hearing our voices blend, the pitches meet and separate.
Afterwards, she said, simply, "I have always wanted to sing with you. So I thought this was the opportunity."
That's all it was. It was a small thing. But it was a gift.
And it is a kind of leadership, too: to be able to do it alone, but to say: I have always wanted to do it with you. I have always wanted to sing with you. I have always wanted to serve with you. I have always wanted to teach with you.
It is the grace of leadership. Or the leadership of grace.
She did not designate a particular song; she just wanted this woman to sing, an alto from our church's choir. As it turned out, they had also sung together in a community choir.
I was happy to ask her to sing, and the woman was happy to accept the invitation. She just had one question for me, "Will you sing with me?"
Back in the day, she and her husband were often asked to sing at funerals. He had died a few years ago, but people still asked her to sing, on occasion. So I didn't think she was asking because she didn't want to sing alone. She was perfectly capable of singing by herself. Actually, I didn't know why she asked me.
I said yes.
We decided on a song (Abide with Me) and divided up the parts and practiced a couple of times. I sang soprano on one verse and tenor an octave higher on another verse. I remembered how I used to sing with my sister, on occasion. But that was many years ago. The last time, we sang "Whispering Hope." I remembered how it felt, singing harmony, singing the melody, hearing our voices blend, the pitches meet and separate.
Afterwards, she said, simply, "I have always wanted to sing with you. So I thought this was the opportunity."
That's all it was. It was a small thing. But it was a gift.
And it is a kind of leadership, too: to be able to do it alone, but to say: I have always wanted to do it with you. I have always wanted to sing with you. I have always wanted to serve with you. I have always wanted to teach with you.
It is the grace of leadership. Or the leadership of grace.
Friday, January 24, 2014
The End of an Era
The church where I grew up held their final worship service on Baptism of Our Lord Sunday. I have a copy of the bulletin from the service, even though I wasn't able to attend. The picture on the front of the bulletin is from the church's heyday, in the early 1970s. I keep looking at the picture, thinking about the past, and where I am now.
When my family joined the church, I was six years old, and the congregation was bursting at the seams. It was the baby boom, the congregation was a mission start, and the ushers couldn't set up the folding chairs quickly enough on Sunday morning. There was not enough room for all of the Sunday School classes. During Vacation Bible School, there were often big tents set up in the back yard, and one summer some of us were even chauffeured over to the synagogue across the street. The event was noted in the local newspaper.
Though we were still a smaller congregation with one pastor, the congregation seemed destined for greatness. We purchased land and had a model for our expansion set up in the church basement. It was all very exciting. All the time I was growing up we were worshipping in what would be the fellowship hall. At the first worship service in the new sanctuary, I remember listening to the pastor preach, and thinking, "If I were a man, that is what I would want to do." It was a fleeting thought then, because there were no women pastors, as far as I knew. And I was very shy. I couldn't imagine myself speaking in front of a large group. I had no idea where that thought came from.
This is the church where I was nurtured in faith, where I was confirmed. It was the church that supported me when I became a missionary to Japan, the church that recognized my gifts for ministry and endorsed me for my seminary studies, the church where I was ordained into Word and Sacrament ministry. It was the church where I taught Sunday School, sang in the choir, read lessons, sat on the church council, preached my first sermon.
It was a congregation where I also saw and experienced a slow process of decline. Throughout the years I saw wonderful relationships and painful conflict. Talented people came and went in a congregation which had a reputation for innovative worship.
"Why does a church close?' my husband asked me as we were reminiscing last week. It was a wistful question. In number of years at least, the congregation seemed too young to die.
"I don't know," I replied.
And I was being truthful, even though throughout the years, I had had plenty of ideas about what was wrong. As a lay leader, I even had some strategies for how to fix it. Better Sunday School, personal relationships, adult education, re-immersing ourselves in the neighborhood. I was being truthful, even though I know that there were outside challenges, and inside challenges for our congregation. We were hampered by a highway location that made us easy to see, but difficult to find. We had had congregational conflicts that left us wounded. And there were cultural changes going on that I didn't know about then, but have only begun to understand in retrospect.
Why does a church close?
It could have been any one of those reasons, or a combination of them, or something else entirely.
I don't know.
But here's one thing I do know: people are born, people live, people die. Congregations are not people, but they are like people in some ways. When a church closes, it is like a funeral. It is the end of an era. When the church is a fairly young one, like mine was, there are exhausting efforts to return to life and health, and there is deep grief when the doors finally close.
Each life has a purpose. So does a congregation. Maybe it is an illusion, though, that any one congregation is meant to last forever. It is an illusion borne of many things: perhaps our sturdy, strong buildings make us think of permanence. Perhaps a culture that worships growth and sees a congregation as a simply an organization but not an organism plays a part.
I don't know.
Congregations are born. Congregations live. And sometimes, congregations die. And what really matters, it seems to me, is that while we live, we know we have a purpose, that God lives and breathes and loves through us.
Reformation Lutheran Church, you are the servant of the Lord. Go in peace.
When my family joined the church, I was six years old, and the congregation was bursting at the seams. It was the baby boom, the congregation was a mission start, and the ushers couldn't set up the folding chairs quickly enough on Sunday morning. There was not enough room for all of the Sunday School classes. During Vacation Bible School, there were often big tents set up in the back yard, and one summer some of us were even chauffeured over to the synagogue across the street. The event was noted in the local newspaper.
Though we were still a smaller congregation with one pastor, the congregation seemed destined for greatness. We purchased land and had a model for our expansion set up in the church basement. It was all very exciting. All the time I was growing up we were worshipping in what would be the fellowship hall. At the first worship service in the new sanctuary, I remember listening to the pastor preach, and thinking, "If I were a man, that is what I would want to do." It was a fleeting thought then, because there were no women pastors, as far as I knew. And I was very shy. I couldn't imagine myself speaking in front of a large group. I had no idea where that thought came from.
This is the church where I was nurtured in faith, where I was confirmed. It was the church that supported me when I became a missionary to Japan, the church that recognized my gifts for ministry and endorsed me for my seminary studies, the church where I was ordained into Word and Sacrament ministry. It was the church where I taught Sunday School, sang in the choir, read lessons, sat on the church council, preached my first sermon.It was a congregation where I also saw and experienced a slow process of decline. Throughout the years I saw wonderful relationships and painful conflict. Talented people came and went in a congregation which had a reputation for innovative worship.
"Why does a church close?' my husband asked me as we were reminiscing last week. It was a wistful question. In number of years at least, the congregation seemed too young to die.
"I don't know," I replied.
And I was being truthful, even though throughout the years, I had had plenty of ideas about what was wrong. As a lay leader, I even had some strategies for how to fix it. Better Sunday School, personal relationships, adult education, re-immersing ourselves in the neighborhood. I was being truthful, even though I know that there were outside challenges, and inside challenges for our congregation. We were hampered by a highway location that made us easy to see, but difficult to find. We had had congregational conflicts that left us wounded. And there were cultural changes going on that I didn't know about then, but have only begun to understand in retrospect.
Why does a church close?
It could have been any one of those reasons, or a combination of them, or something else entirely.
I don't know.
But here's one thing I do know: people are born, people live, people die. Congregations are not people, but they are like people in some ways. When a church closes, it is like a funeral. It is the end of an era. When the church is a fairly young one, like mine was, there are exhausting efforts to return to life and health, and there is deep grief when the doors finally close.
Each life has a purpose. So does a congregation. Maybe it is an illusion, though, that any one congregation is meant to last forever. It is an illusion borne of many things: perhaps our sturdy, strong buildings make us think of permanence. Perhaps a culture that worships growth and sees a congregation as a simply an organization but not an organism plays a part.
I don't know.
Congregations are born. Congregations live. And sometimes, congregations die. And what really matters, it seems to me, is that while we live, we know we have a purpose, that God lives and breathes and loves through us.
Reformation Lutheran Church, you are the servant of the Lord. Go in peace.
Thursday, September 8, 2011
Just Another Meeting Night
My congregation has been in a pastoral transition for about a year now, which poses its challenges, creates opportunities, and -- may I say -- also causes me, occasionally, to be surprised.
Our congregation, like many other congregations, has meetings. We have Leadership Board meetings. We have Worship Planning Meetings. We have Committee Meetings. We have Global Mission Meetings. We have Education Meetings. We have Stewardship Meetings (sometimes). Lately, since we are in a pastoral transition, there have been other sorts of meetings as well.
You get the picture.
As associate pastor, there have been places where my input has been welcome, and other areas that I haven't been much involved. One of the places I haven't been involved has been a group called the "Nominating Committee." Their job has been to help fill the positions on the Board and other committees as they come up for election.
Like many jobs involving regular meetings, there hasn't been a long line of people waiting to do this job.
But about a year and a half ago, I had an idea about doing something different with this group. And, since no one told me not to, I started doing it.
Using some principles from the field of organizing, I made the former "Nominating Committee" into a "Leadership Development Committee" instead, with these objectives:
1. Create connections and get to know other people in the congregation.
2. Learn more about them as people: their stories, their interests, passions, concerns.
3. Help them to find places in and out of the congregation to develop their gifts.
4. Find out who can be developed as a congregational leader and help them find places to serve.
I didn't get this out of a book I read, and, even now, I wonder if this will work. We are coming up to the Congregational Meeting at the end of the fall, and will need to have people willing to serve in congregational positions. That's the criteria I imagine the congregation will use to judge whether this "system" works.
In the meantime, we try to have "one to one" conversations with two other people very month and report out on them. Recently we discovered in a conversation a retired woman who really wanted to be involved in a Social Service ministry -- so we're giving her the opportunity. We're making lists of people who like to do "hands on" ministry and hate meetings, who play instruments, who like to sing, who like to clean and to cook. We're finding out about people who are passionate about being a more diverse and inclusive faith community.
(Now we could use a good method to keep track of all of this information for us.)
When we do ask people to do a task, or lead a group, or be involved in something, we do it in the context of a relationship we are building, and after knowing something about the person we are talking to. We HOPE that we are asking them to be involved in something that they care about, and that will help them grow in their discipleship.
Every month when we meet around the table, I'm amazed: what we are doing feels strategic, holy, and risky. I go away every month impressed by the leadership of the people around the table, the people they are meeting, the circles that a rippling out from six people into the congregation.
As associate pastor, I often had ideas, sometimes ideas that I didn't really have the power to implement. It's always safer to have an idea if you don't ever had to try it and see if it works. (something like being a political pundit.)
But here I am, putting an idea into action, experimenting with my congregation, rallying the troops, not really knowing whether what I am doing will succeed or fail. I do think that this organizational principal will bear fruit, but that we will have to be patient. But I don't KNOW it. What I do know is that I am discovering (by experiment) more and more of who I am as a leader.
I'll let you know how it goes. Okay?
Our congregation, like many other congregations, has meetings. We have Leadership Board meetings. We have Worship Planning Meetings. We have Committee Meetings. We have Global Mission Meetings. We have Education Meetings. We have Stewardship Meetings (sometimes). Lately, since we are in a pastoral transition, there have been other sorts of meetings as well.
You get the picture.
As associate pastor, there have been places where my input has been welcome, and other areas that I haven't been much involved. One of the places I haven't been involved has been a group called the "Nominating Committee." Their job has been to help fill the positions on the Board and other committees as they come up for election.
Like many jobs involving regular meetings, there hasn't been a long line of people waiting to do this job.
But about a year and a half ago, I had an idea about doing something different with this group. And, since no one told me not to, I started doing it.
Using some principles from the field of organizing, I made the former "Nominating Committee" into a "Leadership Development Committee" instead, with these objectives:
1. Create connections and get to know other people in the congregation.
2. Learn more about them as people: their stories, their interests, passions, concerns.
3. Help them to find places in and out of the congregation to develop their gifts.
4. Find out who can be developed as a congregational leader and help them find places to serve.
I didn't get this out of a book I read, and, even now, I wonder if this will work. We are coming up to the Congregational Meeting at the end of the fall, and will need to have people willing to serve in congregational positions. That's the criteria I imagine the congregation will use to judge whether this "system" works.
In the meantime, we try to have "one to one" conversations with two other people very month and report out on them. Recently we discovered in a conversation a retired woman who really wanted to be involved in a Social Service ministry -- so we're giving her the opportunity. We're making lists of people who like to do "hands on" ministry and hate meetings, who play instruments, who like to sing, who like to clean and to cook. We're finding out about people who are passionate about being a more diverse and inclusive faith community.
(Now we could use a good method to keep track of all of this information for us.)
When we do ask people to do a task, or lead a group, or be involved in something, we do it in the context of a relationship we are building, and after knowing something about the person we are talking to. We HOPE that we are asking them to be involved in something that they care about, and that will help them grow in their discipleship.
Every month when we meet around the table, I'm amazed: what we are doing feels strategic, holy, and risky. I go away every month impressed by the leadership of the people around the table, the people they are meeting, the circles that a rippling out from six people into the congregation.
As associate pastor, I often had ideas, sometimes ideas that I didn't really have the power to implement. It's always safer to have an idea if you don't ever had to try it and see if it works. (something like being a political pundit.)
But here I am, putting an idea into action, experimenting with my congregation, rallying the troops, not really knowing whether what I am doing will succeed or fail. I do think that this organizational principal will bear fruit, but that we will have to be patient. But I don't KNOW it. What I do know is that I am discovering (by experiment) more and more of who I am as a leader.
I'll let you know how it goes. Okay?
Saturday, July 2, 2011
Reading the Bible in 90 Days, Day 32: 2 Chronicles 8 - 23
The Kingdom is divided now. The author of Chronicles (at this point) spends more time with the Kings of Judah (mostly pretty good, with some flaws) than with the kings of Israel (mostly bad). There is no mention of Solomon going after other gods at the end of his life. Rehoboam (Solomon's son) follows really bad advice in deciding to be a harsh king, and the northern kingdom rebels. Even though the author considers this an understandable reaction of Rehoboam's cruelty, the fact remains -- Israel turns apostate. They cut themselves off. They follow other gods.
The harshness of their king is partly responsible.
Mercy and compassion are not two words we think of associated with leaders.
But Yahweh is looking for leaders who do care about the welfare of the people they serve.
Tomorrow's reading: 2 Chronicles 24 - 35
Monday's reading: 2 Chronicles 36 - Ezra 10
Note: I will be off line for most of next week. I'll post the week's reading tomorrow, and try to keep notes throughout the week...
Perhaps that's why he sometimes calls them "shepherds."
The harshness of their king is partly responsible.
Mercy and compassion are not two words we think of associated with leaders.
But Yahweh is looking for leaders who do care about the welfare of the people they serve.
Tomorrow's reading: 2 Chronicles 24 - 35
Monday's reading: 2 Chronicles 36 - Ezra 10
Note: I will be off line for most of next week. I'll post the week's reading tomorrow, and try to keep notes throughout the week...
Perhaps that's why he sometimes calls them "shepherds."
Monday, April 18, 2011
A Few Thoughts About Leadership
Over the past year or so I've been thinking a lot about Leadership, Pastoral and otherwise. Here are just a few things I've been thinking:
1. Leaders Don't Know Everything. I know it's tempting, when you are looking for a leader, to try and find someone who "knows what we should do." But I'm not sure that is the best model for leadership, at least these days. Rather than a leader who is sure that he or she knows what to do in every situation, what about a leader who is curious about what s/he doesn't know and listening to the people and the culture around her for ideas and strategies? I think that curiosity and openness are under-valued qualities in a leader these days.
A parish member once said, "A Professional is someone who knows what to do when s/he doesn't know what to do." Not a bad qualification for a leader too: someone willing to say, "Actually I don't have all the answers, but I have some ideas for how we can find out."
2. Leadership requires courage. Absolutely. You can't be a leader if you are not able to step out and take some risks. And you have to know where the bottom line is for you, what is essential and what is not.
That being said, leadership does not mean standing alone. And courage is not stupidity. Leaders cultivate their courage by making sure there are people standing with them, behind them, alongside them, people who see a leader's vision taking shape and are willing to go there with them. Leaders cultivate people who will have their back in times of stress; that's one place that courage comes from.
3. Leaders listen and speak. I think when we think of leaders, we think of speaking. But actually, listening is just as important to the task of leadership. What to leaders listen to: leaders listen to stories. And leaders tell stories. They tell their own stories, and they tell stories of the past, present and future of the people they are leading.
4. Leading and Pastoring are both necessary, but they are not the same thing. If you are a good pastor, do not mistake people's respect for you as their pastor, as a willingness to follow your leadership. It is a separate skill. I can't imagine being able to be a effective leader in a parish if you're not a good pastor as well.
5 Leaders cultivate hope. It's not the same as optimism.
I hope to continue, and to develop this conversation.
Probably after Holy Week, though.
1. Leaders Don't Know Everything. I know it's tempting, when you are looking for a leader, to try and find someone who "knows what we should do." But I'm not sure that is the best model for leadership, at least these days. Rather than a leader who is sure that he or she knows what to do in every situation, what about a leader who is curious about what s/he doesn't know and listening to the people and the culture around her for ideas and strategies? I think that curiosity and openness are under-valued qualities in a leader these days.
A parish member once said, "A Professional is someone who knows what to do when s/he doesn't know what to do." Not a bad qualification for a leader too: someone willing to say, "Actually I don't have all the answers, but I have some ideas for how we can find out."
2. Leadership requires courage. Absolutely. You can't be a leader if you are not able to step out and take some risks. And you have to know where the bottom line is for you, what is essential and what is not.
That being said, leadership does not mean standing alone. And courage is not stupidity. Leaders cultivate their courage by making sure there are people standing with them, behind them, alongside them, people who see a leader's vision taking shape and are willing to go there with them. Leaders cultivate people who will have their back in times of stress; that's one place that courage comes from.
3. Leaders listen and speak. I think when we think of leaders, we think of speaking. But actually, listening is just as important to the task of leadership. What to leaders listen to: leaders listen to stories. And leaders tell stories. They tell their own stories, and they tell stories of the past, present and future of the people they are leading.
4. Leading and Pastoring are both necessary, but they are not the same thing. If you are a good pastor, do not mistake people's respect for you as their pastor, as a willingness to follow your leadership. It is a separate skill. I can't imagine being able to be a effective leader in a parish if you're not a good pastor as well.
5 Leaders cultivate hope. It's not the same as optimism.
I hope to continue, and to develop this conversation.
Probably after Holy Week, though.
Wednesday, August 4, 2010
Two Favorite Stories, or "things that make you go hmmm"
About Benjamin Disraeli:
A young lady was taken to dinner one evening by Gladstone and the following evening by Disraeli. Asked what impressions these two celebrated men had made upon her, she replied, "When I left the dining room after sitting next to Mr. Gladstone, I thought he was the cleverest man in England. But after sitting next to Mr. Disraeli, I thought I was the cleverest woman in England."
From Aesop's Fables:
The North Wind and the Sun
A dispute arose between the North Wind and the Sun, each claiming that he was stronger than the other. At last they agreed to try their powers upon a traveller, to see which could soonest strip him of his cloak. The North Wind had the first try; and, gathering up all his force for the attack, he came whirling furiously down upon the man, and caught up his cloak as though he would wrest it from him by one single effort; but the harder he blew, the more closely the man wrapped it round himself. Then came the turn of the Sun. At first he beamed gently upon the traveller, who soon unclasped his cloak and walked on with it hanging loosely about his shoulders: then he shone forth in his full strength, and the man, before he had gone many steps, was glad to throw his cloak right off and complete his journey more lightly clad.
I am thinking a lot lately about leadership, or, more properly, about leading (an action, not a status). Somehow these stories say something about leading.
A young lady was taken to dinner one evening by Gladstone and the following evening by Disraeli. Asked what impressions these two celebrated men had made upon her, she replied, "When I left the dining room after sitting next to Mr. Gladstone, I thought he was the cleverest man in England. But after sitting next to Mr. Disraeli, I thought I was the cleverest woman in England."
From Aesop's Fables:
The North Wind and the Sun
A dispute arose between the North Wind and the Sun, each claiming that he was stronger than the other. At last they agreed to try their powers upon a traveller, to see which could soonest strip him of his cloak. The North Wind had the first try; and, gathering up all his force for the attack, he came whirling furiously down upon the man, and caught up his cloak as though he would wrest it from him by one single effort; but the harder he blew, the more closely the man wrapped it round himself. Then came the turn of the Sun. At first he beamed gently upon the traveller, who soon unclasped his cloak and walked on with it hanging loosely about his shoulders: then he shone forth in his full strength, and the man, before he had gone many steps, was glad to throw his cloak right off and complete his journey more lightly clad.
I am thinking a lot lately about leadership, or, more properly, about leading (an action, not a status). Somehow these stories say something about leading.
Saturday, May 1, 2010
Why Don't We Run The Church More Like A Business?
I can't tell you how many times I have heard this sentiment, often at around the time of the Annual Meeting. "Why Don't we Run the Church More Like A Business?" Its corollary, a rallying cry, "We should run the church more like a business!"
Sometimes it seems like this sentiment has to do with the church budget, other times to do with personnel issues. When I hear it, I'm left with a sense of uneasiness, and a vague sense of what the person might mean. Some how they are expressing, (I think) a sense that if we did things in a more businesslike, step-by-step, rational manner, we would be in some way more successful.
At least, I think that's what they mean. Maybe they mean that they wish they could fire the pastor if the church isn't growing.
Anyway, if you know what it means to "run the church more like a business", let me know.
As for me, sometimes I think we ought to run the church a little less like a business, at least in a few areas.
For example, I think when we are having a church council meeting, we should pray more: not just a short prayer to open our meeting and a short prayer to end the meeting, with almost no mention of "God" in the middle. What if in our business meetings we were constantly listening to God, listening for God, not as a pious exercise, but as a way to get our of our own mind-sets and knee jerk opinions, and into what following Jesus means?
I'm pretty sure this wouldn't mean less disagreements, but our arguments might get a lot more interesting.
I think we should resurrect the word "discernment" in church meetings. Discussions about how we need to get more money, or how we need to attract more people could be replaced by discussions focussing on discernment of our mission: what is it that God is calling us to do; who is it that God is calling us to be?
I'm lukewarm about Parliamentary procedure. It serves a purpose, it keeps order, I suppose, but sometimes I do think it it gets in the way of the Spirit breaking out. I'm still thinking on this one.
Finally, we could remember what the church is, and what the church is for: the church is the people of God, and its mission is to proclaim and live good news, to be good news for other people. Our mission is to be good news of reconciliation, good news of mercy, good news of welcome, good news of justice.
Sometimes it seems like this sentiment has to do with the church budget, other times to do with personnel issues. When I hear it, I'm left with a sense of uneasiness, and a vague sense of what the person might mean. Some how they are expressing, (I think) a sense that if we did things in a more businesslike, step-by-step, rational manner, we would be in some way more successful.
At least, I think that's what they mean. Maybe they mean that they wish they could fire the pastor if the church isn't growing.
Anyway, if you know what it means to "run the church more like a business", let me know.
As for me, sometimes I think we ought to run the church a little less like a business, at least in a few areas.
For example, I think when we are having a church council meeting, we should pray more: not just a short prayer to open our meeting and a short prayer to end the meeting, with almost no mention of "God" in the middle. What if in our business meetings we were constantly listening to God, listening for God, not as a pious exercise, but as a way to get our of our own mind-sets and knee jerk opinions, and into what following Jesus means?
I'm pretty sure this wouldn't mean less disagreements, but our arguments might get a lot more interesting.
I think we should resurrect the word "discernment" in church meetings. Discussions about how we need to get more money, or how we need to attract more people could be replaced by discussions focussing on discernment of our mission: what is it that God is calling us to do; who is it that God is calling us to be?
I'm lukewarm about Parliamentary procedure. It serves a purpose, it keeps order, I suppose, but sometimes I do think it it gets in the way of the Spirit breaking out. I'm still thinking on this one.
Finally, we could remember what the church is, and what the church is for: the church is the people of God, and its mission is to proclaim and live good news, to be good news for other people. Our mission is to be good news of reconciliation, good news of mercy, good news of welcome, good news of justice.
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
A Few Quotes and Hmmms
I've been reading a book called "Transforming Congregational Culture", by Anthony Robinson. Here a a few quotations I found provocative:
"The church, once founded and established to make a difference in the lives of others and in society, has in a time of change and confusion tended to adopt a diminished purpose and vision. Seeing or sensing that earlier roles and purposes -- conscience of the community, instrument of aid, and center of the community -- no longer quite worked, and yet unsure of other directions, too many churches have adopted as their implicit purpose the maintenance of a congenial community for their members. And the measure of a minister and church has become how well they keep the membership satisfied." (p. 31)
The purpose of the church is a better word than its vision because: "this (vision) tends to distort the role of leader, or leadership, turning it once again into an answer-provoding agency and relieving the followers of responsibility...vision has aplace, but purpose is the more important question."
"Too often worship in the mainline churches is an informational event rather than a formational and transformational event. But if information were all that was needed to save us, we would have been redeemed long ago....worship is the encounter with God -- it is meeting -- and being met by -- the holy one...in the Christendom era, and in many mainline churches today, worship is nice but is not absolutely necessary, not critical... in our new time, worship will be experience as essential, not something you can miss."
hmmmms....
I keep thinking about the fact that as a leader one of the few things I know is that I don't know all the answers. I know just a few answers. I'm pretty sure, though, that learning to ask the right questions is one of the most important tasks for leaders these days.
I have quit asking "am I a leader?" because I am a leader, sometimes even whether I want to be or not. But the right question for me is not "Am I a leader?" or "Am I willing to lead?" but, "What kind of leader am I becoming?" and "Where am I willing to lead?" Where do I need courage, and who can help me find it?
"The church, once founded and established to make a difference in the lives of others and in society, has in a time of change and confusion tended to adopt a diminished purpose and vision. Seeing or sensing that earlier roles and purposes -- conscience of the community, instrument of aid, and center of the community -- no longer quite worked, and yet unsure of other directions, too many churches have adopted as their implicit purpose the maintenance of a congenial community for their members. And the measure of a minister and church has become how well they keep the membership satisfied." (p. 31)
The purpose of the church is a better word than its vision because: "this (vision) tends to distort the role of leader, or leadership, turning it once again into an answer-provoding agency and relieving the followers of responsibility...vision has aplace, but purpose is the more important question."
"Too often worship in the mainline churches is an informational event rather than a formational and transformational event. But if information were all that was needed to save us, we would have been redeemed long ago....worship is the encounter with God -- it is meeting -- and being met by -- the holy one...in the Christendom era, and in many mainline churches today, worship is nice but is not absolutely necessary, not critical... in our new time, worship will be experience as essential, not something you can miss."
hmmmms....
I keep thinking about the fact that as a leader one of the few things I know is that I don't know all the answers. I know just a few answers. I'm pretty sure, though, that learning to ask the right questions is one of the most important tasks for leaders these days.
I have quit asking "am I a leader?" because I am a leader, sometimes even whether I want to be or not. But the right question for me is not "Am I a leader?" or "Am I willing to lead?" but, "What kind of leader am I becoming?" and "Where am I willing to lead?" Where do I need courage, and who can help me find it?
Sunday, March 28, 2010
A Different Drummer
Today was Passion Sunday, otherwise known as "Palm Sunday". It's always a big day in my congregation, because one of our traditions is a live donkey, who leads the processional from the fellowship hall into the sanctuary. We have huge banners in purple and scarlet as well. At 10:30 the children (all the children, not just the children's choir) lead the processional, all dressed up as if they were living in Jerusalem in Jesus' time.
This year, though, we had our annual Mardi Gras brunch on Palm Sunday. I realize this means it is no longer a Mardi Gras brunch. But we're not quite sure what to call it yet. (We're also not quite sure if this is a new tradition, a blip on the radar screen, or a paradigm shift.) But because of the brunch we couldn't process from the fellowship hall.
So instead we had a dramatic presentation of the Passion Story. It's called "The Cry of the Whole Congregation"; it was published in Walter Wangerin's book Ragman and Other Cries of Faith. It features four narrators, a children's choir, a soloist, a drummer and a liturgical dancer. I organized the readers and rehearsed them.
Today, I didn't have a major part in the worship service.
Except that I played the drum.
The drum beat begins when the crowd cries, "blasphemy!" It continues, varying the speed and intensity until Jesus dies.
In the past, when I didn't play the drums, I thought of it as a heart beat.
I'm not sure if it was exactly that. There's a relentlessness to the beat. Sometimes it feels inexorable, like the "it is necessary" clause in the scriptures: "It is necessary for the son of man to suffer...." Sometimes it feels like the beat of the anger and fear of desperate people trying to preserve the status quo. It's the beat of something set in motion.
I found it a very different experience for me as a pastor. Instead of standing in the spotlight, I was behind the scenes. The gifted people who had rehearsed with me were standing in the spotlight, telling the story with words and music and movements. I was in the back, worrying a little, but keeping the beat.
It's a different image of leadership, at least much different than the ones I have been taught to strive for and embrace.
But I'm convinced that choosing and rehearsing and then standing in the background beating the drum: this is an image of a real leader, too.
Today the dancer moved with the grace of Christ, and the readers spoke with the passion of Christ, and the musicians sang and played with the beauty of Christ.
The drummer kept the tempo.
This year, though, we had our annual Mardi Gras brunch on Palm Sunday. I realize this means it is no longer a Mardi Gras brunch. But we're not quite sure what to call it yet. (We're also not quite sure if this is a new tradition, a blip on the radar screen, or a paradigm shift.) But because of the brunch we couldn't process from the fellowship hall.
So instead we had a dramatic presentation of the Passion Story. It's called "The Cry of the Whole Congregation"; it was published in Walter Wangerin's book Ragman and Other Cries of Faith. It features four narrators, a children's choir, a soloist, a drummer and a liturgical dancer. I organized the readers and rehearsed them.
Today, I didn't have a major part in the worship service.
Except that I played the drum.
The drum beat begins when the crowd cries, "blasphemy!" It continues, varying the speed and intensity until Jesus dies.
In the past, when I didn't play the drums, I thought of it as a heart beat.
I'm not sure if it was exactly that. There's a relentlessness to the beat. Sometimes it feels inexorable, like the "it is necessary" clause in the scriptures: "It is necessary for the son of man to suffer...." Sometimes it feels like the beat of the anger and fear of desperate people trying to preserve the status quo. It's the beat of something set in motion.
I found it a very different experience for me as a pastor. Instead of standing in the spotlight, I was behind the scenes. The gifted people who had rehearsed with me were standing in the spotlight, telling the story with words and music and movements. I was in the back, worrying a little, but keeping the beat.
It's a different image of leadership, at least much different than the ones I have been taught to strive for and embrace.
But I'm convinced that choosing and rehearsing and then standing in the background beating the drum: this is an image of a real leader, too.
Today the dancer moved with the grace of Christ, and the readers spoke with the passion of Christ, and the musicians sang and played with the beauty of Christ.
The drummer kept the tempo.
Tuesday, June 10, 2008
And Now, for Something Completely Different
I always dreamed of being an actress. I used to stand in front of the mirror in the bathroom and strike poses, and invent characters. I used to imagine myself wearing the most beautiful clothes, and being noticed. I would imagine myself standing up in front of people, being poised and confident, and never forgetting my lines.I wanted to be a star. Or at least, I wanted to shine, to stick out, to be noticed, to do something great.
In reality, all I had a couple of bit parts. We did an ensemble piece based on Marlo Thomas' book, Free To Be .... You and Me when I was in high school and I had a couple lines of narration. It was great to be part of the team, even though a
small part. I loved the musicals, but I flunked dancing, so I never got any further.Until my last year of seminary, when I got my fifteen minutes of fame, playing Eliza in a church production of My Fair Lady.
I didn't lobby for the part; the church asked me if I would audition. It was given to me.
That's always the way I thought it should be. I could be a leader, in the center, the star of the show, the one calling the shots -- but only if they asked ME. I couldn't reach out and take it; I could only receive it. Because, deep down, I thought it was wrong to stand out, to call attention to myself.
Today, someone questioned the wisdom of that position. "If you want something," she said, "sometimes you have to reach out and take it. You can't wait for someone to give it to you."All I want is a room somewhere
Far away from the cold night air
With one enormous chair
O, Wouldn't it be Loverly?
Eliza was braver, and better than I thought.
She had a dream, and she reached out for it.
She took a risk. She let her light shine. She was a star.
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